


Confusion

by chooken



Series: Confusion [1]
Category: Westlife
Genre: Awkward Boners, Bad Decisions, Best Friends, Bi-Curiosity, Dirty Thoughts, Fluff, Hangover, Internal Conflict, M/M, Morning After, Naked Cuddling, Sexual Confusion, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kian wakes up in bed with a naked Mark and no memory of how they got there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confusion

This might have been a horrible mistake.

As hangovers go this is fairly standard. Wretched, of course. Kian's stomach is heaving, it feels like something's crawling under his skin to the stabbing drumbeat in the back of his head. He's woken up like this more than once. They all have.

He hasn't woken up with his best friend naked beside him, though. That's a new one.

He stares for a minute, taking stock and trying to make sense of at least some of this. Mark is naked. It's pretty bloody obvious, the guy's lying on his front, the blankets all rucked up at the bottom of the mattress. Mark's hand is on Kian's stomach, Kian's arm is trapped underneath Mark's chest. He wants to pull it out but he doesn't want to wake Mark up. Really doesn't. Because if Mark wakes up and looks at him he's either going to be just as surprised as Kian or not surprised at all, and Kian isn't entirely sure which one sounds worse.

But okay. Mark's on his arm. Mark is naked. Kian can feel coarse chest hair on his arm, slightly slick with sweat where they're touching. Mark's chest is moving a little with each soft, sleepy breath, his eyes closed, lips parted slightly and he has the _worst_ morning breath, like he's been doused in vodka and set alight. Kian's isn't much better and he might want to throw up in a bit but shit, Mark's arse is right there and Kian's hand is _not_ that far from what he has to assume is a pretty bare cock and Mark's hand is really close to his own, fingers grasping gently on his belly to the rhythm of slow, drunken breaths and...

Fuck.

“Mark,” Kian whispers. He's a bit relieved when Mark doesn't wake. He shifts his hand slightly, tugging as slowly as possible and trying to make a space to slide it out.

Mark grumbles softly. Kian freezes.

But no, okay, he's still asleep but his lips are pursing and Kian really wants to yank his hand out but that definitely will wake Mark up.

Maybe he could just gnaw his own arm off. That sounds reasonable.

Stop. Think. Mark is naked. Kian is naked. How did we get here?

Drinks. Shots. Nicky laughing and saying he'd get the next round. Mark shaking his head and saying he was all in, thanks though, and Kian saying ah, come on, just one more. And...

Um.

“Mark,” he whispers again. Moves his hand, fingers shifting as he tries to crawl it out of the tangle of sheets and Mark and Jesus, Mark is grumbling again, lips pursing and there's movement behind closed eyelids and Mark is fucking beautiful, honestly, which is a thought he's not wanted to allow himself to have and isn't about to allow now because looking at Mark's bare arse right now and not having those particular thoughts is about the hardest fucking thing he's ever had to do.

Mark is naked in his bed and Kian doesn't fucking know _why_ and no explanation is going to be okay, because if he and Mark really... if they actually...

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He hasn't wanted it. It sounds like a thing he doesn't, shouldn't, definitely couldn't want. Because that would be mad because Mark is his friend and loving Mark like a brother has worked out perfectly fine until now, thank you very much because girls are nice. They're pretty and appropriate to what he knows he already likes but Mark...

Mark...

Mark is gay. Mark is very very gay.

And Kian is not.

But still, maybe he's wondered what it's like, you know. With guys. Not on a personal front but just... objectively. Because that's something Mark has done and Kian is supportive because Mark's his friend. He's got nothing against it. Good lad, likes cock, but Kian doesn't know if he can ask those questions exactly and maybe he's a bit interested. Like... does Mark like it up the bum? Is that a thing he does? Which is probably personal but it's bloody Mark isn't it, and since the big revelation Kian does... wonder sometimes. If there's a point in Mark's life, in between mucking around in Sligo and putting on matching suits, that Kian has come down to breakfast and been completely unaware that the night before Mark had lost his... virginity. Thing.

Or does he not do that? Is he a... a top then? Or does he not do it at all, even though Kian had used to be fairly certain that was a thing that all them blokes did. Blokes who were gay. But now he doesn't know, just based on some of the jokes Mark's made and Mark is allowed to make those jokes now. Kian still isn't sure if he's allowed to laugh at them.

It's a bloody minefield. His hand is still trapped under Mark.

But all the jokes aside he's thought about it. Really specific mental images about what Mark likes. What he's never said he likes apart from liking boys. Guys. Men. Mark likes men and Kian's mind can't stop trying to capture the reality of that, slotting Mark into odd positions with a faceless guy that maybe has blonde hair and blue eyes for some reason, switching them around like paper dolls in his head. Mark getting fucked, fingers clenching in the sheets. Kian wants to know what his face would look like. If it'd be all scrunched up in pain or if he'd be liquid and flushed, moaning and pushing back. On his back, legs around the waist of... of the guy. The one who's... giving it to him.

What he'd look like, maybe, with a cock in his mouth, snuffling into dark blonde hair, eyes big and looking up, cum dripping down his chin and a cheeky look in his eyes. Whether he'd be good at it. Whether his fingers would cradle the balls just the way Kian... just the way whoever it was likes.

Whether he'd be a slow and caring lover. Mark is a sweet boy, always kind and careful, but he has a wicked sense of humour as well, is completely mad and filthy when he gets a bit drunk and lets himself go, so maybe it'd be like that. Hard and fast and clawing and those soft, full lips saying things that would make Kian blush. Make him cry out and hoist his legs higher and feel all of Mark. All of him. And.

And.

Oh god, he doesn't _know_.

And maybe... maybe if they're naked... maybe he found out. Intimately. Because Mark doesn't get his clothes off for just bloody anyone, is usually that shy kid who won't take off his t-shirt in the pool. Not like Nicky, who'll just strip off if the breeze feels a bit inviting and Kian couldn't care less any more because _everyone's_ seen Nicky's knob, and he couldn't care less what's going on with Nicky and Georgina in the bedroom because honestly that's their own bloody business.

His arse doesn't hurt, though, which is probably a good sign. He thinks he should crane his neck, try to see if there's any way he could tell if Mark's is a bit. Um. Used.

Jesus.

Mark is settled, practically snoring. His breath is still bloody terrible. Kian starts to move again, bites his lip in concentration when his thumb wriggles free, turning his hand a little and trying to pry his fingers out. Mark mutters something, his hand sliding lower and oh, oh fuck. Um. No. Those fingers really need to stop because in about four seconds Mark's going to have his hand on an area that should _not_ be hard. Not when he's this hungover and disoriented, and definitely not when his _male best friend_ is touching him.

It skates past, falls off his thigh a second later and onto the sheets. Kian pulls his hand out the rest of the way and rolls off the bed, ignoring the unsteady rush of his equilibrium trying to function under too much vodka.

“Kian?”

He freezes halfway to the bathroom. There's rustling behind him, a laughing, embarrassed gasp, and when he looks over his shoulder Mark is yanking the sheets up, cheeks bright red. Sat up in bed and Kian sees a bit of something just for a _moment_ and he's definitely not turning around now. Not letting Mark see...

“Um. Hey,” Kian replies, trying to figure out a reasonable way to carry on a conversation with his back to Mark. “Morning.”

“Hi.” Mark looks down. “I'm naked.”

“I can see that,” Kian chuckles awkwardly. “Me too, apparently.”

“Yeah. Um.” Mark is still pink. Why is that so fucking _hot_? “Crazy night, right?”

“I guess.” Kian scratches his head. “Can't really remember.”

“Pisshead,” Mark jokes. “Well, at least the sex was good.”

Kian's whole brain stutters to a halt. He swallows hard.

“We didn't...?”

“Course not. I was joking.” Mark rolls his eyes. “Why would you think we did? Unless there's something you're not telling me.” He gives Kian a salacious wink. Kian still hasn't turned around. “You said I could crash here because I couldn't remember my room number. Must have...” He glances around. “Dunno. I went to sleep in my boxers, but I must have kicked them off during the night.” He reaches over the bed. “Found 'em!” Blue cotton boxers are waved in the air. “What happened to yours?”

“No idea,” Kian admits. “Woke up on the floor.”

Mark giggles. “Ooh, rugburn on your cock?” He starts to tug the boxers on under the sheets. “You having a shower?” Kian nods. “Cool. I'll get dressed while you're in there and head back to mine.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Kian scuttles to the bathroom, and when he turns around at least most of the door's in the way. “Shall we pretend this never happened?”

“If you like.” Mark looks remarkably unaffected by all of this. Still, that's the beauty of self-discovery, Kian supposes. “I won't tell anyone we woke up naked together.”

“Um. Thanks.” Kian's going red. Mark is giving him a teasing grin. “Okay, so bye.”

“See you later.”

The door closes.

Kian climbs into the shower.

He comes with Mark's name ringing loud in his head.

 


End file.
